


don we now our gay apparel

by faithtastic



Series: DWBYG One Shots [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Smut, Crack, Dress Up, Established Relationship, F/F, PWP, Smut, holiday euphemisms, sexual innuendo, these two are thirsty hoes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 08:15:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8883538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithtastic/pseuds/faithtastic
Summary: Basically an excuse for Clarke to drop a bunch of holiday-themed euphemisms to make Lexa squirm.'don't wanna be your girl'-verse, set at an indeterminate point in the future.





	

"Clarke, have you seen my—“

Whatever Lexa was going to say vanishes from her mind the instant she turns towards the doorway. There, leaning against the door frame, one shapely leg wrapped around the other, stands the woman in question. 

Lexa’s eyes widen as she takes in Clarke’s appearance from head to toe and back again. Her mouth opens and closes uselessly, no sound escaping, except for what could possibly be classified as a quiet meep. 

Because Clarke’s wearing a red velvet minidress, trimmed with white faux fur at the hem and around the bust; a Santa hat, the pom pom dangling rakishly over one cheek; and black leather knee high boots, also fur-trimmed. A thick black belt cinched around her waist completes the ensemble. 

She’s also holding a clipboard. She pretends to peruse it with exaggerated scrutiny, thoughtfully tapping one finger against the small dimple in her chin.

“Hm. According to my ‘Naughty or Nice’ list - and I’ve checked it twice - you’ve been a very _very_ good girl this year, Lexa Woods.”

… Oh.

Oh, _God_. 

When Clarke glances up, the stare she levels at Lexa sends a surge of heat through her entire body. "Do you know what the reward is for such exemplary behaviour?”

Lexa’s jaw works but her mouth is too dry to form actual words. It doesn’t help that Clarke’s now slowly strutting towards her, that Clarke tosses the clipboard away, a look of unwavering intent in her eyes. She’s almost spilling out of the confines of the lace-up bustier and, try as she might, Lexa isn’t capable of dragging her gaze away from the spectacular cleavage on display. 

Those blue eyes rake over Lexa. “Let’s just say Santa isn’t the only one coming tonight.”

“Clarke.” 

It comes out as a weak croak, the most pathetic of perfunctory protests.

They’re supposed to be going to Lincoln and Octavia’s Christmas Eve dinner party, what’s become an annual tradition, and they’re already running late. At this rate they’re going to miss the appetisers, possibly even the butternut squash roast, and Octavia’s wrath is not something Lexa’s keen to incur. 

Lexa shakes herself from her gormless daze. “Clarke. We can’t-”

It doesn’t deter Clarke from advancing upon her, backing Lexa up until her rear bumps against the chest of drawers. She grips the edge to steady herself. 

“Don’t you wanna take a ride in my sleigh?”

“Um.” 

Clarke braces her hands on either side of Lexa’s hips. She brings their bodies flush together: chests, stomachs, thighs touching; trapping Lexa in place with the intensity of her stare as much as her formidable curves. 

“I’ll let you jingle my bells.”

Lexa’s eyes stray helplessly to Clarke’s breasts and she swallows down another undignified noise. 

“But… our friends—”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less. Octavia was with me when I picked out this outfit.” Clarke’s hands trail off the furniture and come to rest on Lexa’s waist, toying with the hem of Lexa’s Christmas sweater. “I can’t help it if you look super hot in novelty knitwear.”

Lexa purses her lips. “The snowflake pattern is that irresistible, huh?”

“Or maybe it’s just you,” Clarke concedes, fingertips skimming under the edge of the sweater, and the t-shirt Lexa’s wearing under it, to reach the skin below. The light touch pulls a tiny shiver from Lexa. “C’mon. This is one gift you’re allowed to unwrap early.”

“Are you really going to continue with these terrible holiday-themed euphemisms?”

Clarke bites her lip to contain a burgeoning smile. “Oh, I’ve barely even begun, babe.” She leans in to bring her mouth close to Lexa’s ear. Drops her voice to that low, scratchy whisper that always lifts the hairs on the back of Lexa’s neck. “I mean, I haven’t asked you to rock around my Christmas tree _or_ slide down my chimney yet.”

Lexa releases a quiet groan, partly because of the innuendos, partly from the brush of Clarke’s lips against her earlobe.

“You can baste my tur-“

One hand flies off the dresser and covers Clarke’s mouth before she can finish that sentence. Lexa feels more than hears Clarke’s filthy laugh, vibrating against her palm. 

“Enough.” Lexa gives a stern glare before removing her hand, letting it drop to Clarke’s hip and giving a warning squeeze. “Just, please, for the love of the baby Jesus, stop. Before you ruin those phrases for me forever.”

Clarke flexes one eyebrow, a challenge. She shimmies impossibly closer, warm hands gliding further along Lexa’s skin, up the sides of her ribs until the tips of her fingers graze the underwire of Lexa’s bra. Lexa’s breath catches. 

“How about you make me?” Clarke says. 

There’s barely an inch between their lips and Lexa really isn’t in control of the way she keeps staring at Clarke’s mouth, shiny as it is with pale gloss. Clarke seems similarly captivated, half-lidded eyes glued to Lexa’s lips in kind. 

Neither could say who eliminates the space between them, only that they collide in a rush, Lexa’s mouth immediately opening to the swipe of Clarke’s tongue. She tastes like candy canes and mint and that sticky, sweet lipgloss. Lexa cups Clarke’s cheeks, tilts her head to angle in deeper, swallowing Clarke’s pleased hum. It’s a sound that never fails to thrill Lexa. She spins them around, reversing their positions so that Clarke’s the one flattened against the dresser. 

It’s with a soft huff of amusement that Clarke breaks away. Her eyes are dark, shrouded with want; mouth wet and inviting. Lexa waits only a second before she dives in again, urging Clarke up onto the dresser, stepping forward into the space afforded by the spread of her thighs, as they trade heavy kisses. 

Clarke’s hands move restlessly over Lexa’s ribs, pushing under the confines of the sweater, bunched as it is around her armpits now, to palm at the satin cups of her bra. A noise of slight frustration gets smothered between them. Clarke pulls away once more, only to quickly divest Lexa of her sweater, taking her t-shirt with it. She tugs Lexa close again by her belt buckle, other hand grasping her by the back of the neck.

“I want you,” Clarke says, a sultry appeal that has Lexa trying and failing to contain a shudder. Clarke stops just shy of bringing their mouths together. The hot puff of her breath gusts across Lexa’s parted lips. “To fill my stocking.”

It takes Lexa’s lust-fogged brain a second to register Clarke’s words. When she does, she almost reels back. “ _Clarke_.”

She’s met with a quiet burst of raspy laughter. When Clarke sees Lexa roll her eyes, she relents. “Fine. I’ll cease and desist.” She’s still smiling, that lazy half-grin that Lexa’s never been able to counter. “But I’ve gotta say I’m disappointed. I haven’t even used the best one so far.”

“Don’t make me gag you with that Santa hat.”

“Oooh.” Clarke’s smile widens a fraction. She flutters her lashes. “Kinky.”

“Anyway,” Lexa continues, ignoring her. “I can think of better ways to shut you up.” 

She kisses Clarke, hot and dirty, all open-mouth and excess tongue, while her hands settle on Clarke’s thighs. Her palms glide up smooth skin, under the furry trim of the dress. She relishes the way Clarke’s breath hitches when she strays close to the edge of Clarke’s underwear, how Clarke sighs, impatient, when Lexa retreats. She keeps retracing the same path, trailing her fingers up and down the sensitive skin of Clarke’s inner thighs, until Clarke’s kisses turn fuller, more determined, the sweep of her tongue inside Lexa’s mouth all the more demanding. 

“Fuck,” Clarke pants out after a minute or maybe five of this assault. “Don’t know why I didn’t think of dressing up like this last year. I mean, I wasn’t sure if you’d be into it because of, like, the patriarchal connotations of Father Christmas but—”

“Shhh.” Lexa tips her head to the other side to catch Clarke’s mouth again, to capture a kiss-swollen bottom lip and suck on it briefly. “I’m always into you.”

Lexa lets the pad of her thumb brush over the cotton between Clarke’s legs, traces the damp cling of the fabric. It makes them both shiver, Clarke’s hips rolling into the touch.

“How do I get you out of this?” Lexa asks, free hand plucking at the tight lacing at the front of the bustier. 

“There’s a zip. At the back.” 

She reaches around Clarke and it takes a couple of clumsy attempts to drag the zipper down as far as it’ll go. The dress gapes at the front and Lexa doesn’t waste any time peeling the stiff velvet further away so she can gain unimpeded access to Clarke’s breasts. She bends to take a nipple into her mouth, wrapping her lips around full peak, scraping her teeth against the hardened tip. She turns the same attention to the other nipple, rolling, licking, biting down gently. Switching back and forth between the two until they’re both swollen and red and Clarke’s arching into it. Until Clarke’s hips are knocking up against her own and the hand still latched around the back of Lexa’s neck is sifting and scratching distractingly through the shorter hairs at the nape.

“God, Lexa,” Clarke groans quietly as Lexa’s mouth engulfs her once more, sucking a sloppy kiss into the top of her breast. “I love how much you love my tits.”

“There’s a lot to love about them,” Lexa says after releasing her suction on Clarke’s skin with a wet pop, leaving a pink impression of her mouth behind. Disappointingly it fades after a few seconds.

“Come here,” Clarke says, both hands going for Lexa’s jaw to pull her in for another heated kiss while she hooks her ankles behind the crest of Lexa’s ass. Clarke uses that leverage to rock her hips forward, shamelessly rubbing herself up against Lexa’s denim-clad pelvis, grinding in tight little circles until her breathing grows laboured and thick. All the while Lexa’s palms clutch at Clarke’s ass, urging her on as her tongue stakes a claim in Clarke’s mouth. 

It doesn’t take long for Clarke’s movements to quicken, not when her hands begin to roam over the mostly bare expanse of Lexa’s torso, when she pushes up under the cups of Lexa’s bra to grope at her breasts. The desperate sound Clarke makes when she meets the jut of Lexa’s nipples gets muffled between them but Lexa feels it vibrate through her chest. A warm pulse of feeling fills the spaces between her ribs, a counterpoint to the building ache between her own legs. And then Clarke’s hips are canting up, a sudden jolt as she goes rigid against Lexa’s body. She releases a ragged moan into Lexa’s mouth. Stays like that, suspended for the span of a few seconds, before she judders, an erratic quake of her hips that provokes a sympathetic gush in Lexa’s underwear.

She doesn’t wait to hoist Clarke up and off the dresser, staggering the few short steps to the bed. (Yeah, she’s been secretly training with Lincoln and Octavia, lifting weights and working on her core, but Lexa isn’t quite as strong as she’d like to be yet.) She deposits Clarke carefully on the covers. By the way Clarke’s chest is heaving, the slight drop of her jaw, the stark dilation of her pupils, it’s clear this is an unexpected and entirely welcome Christmas gift all of its own. 

Lexa doesn’t hesitate to strip Clarke out of the dress and matching red panties. The boots and the Santa hat stay on. Lexa’s clothes follow in swift succession. They both sigh at the full skin-on-skin contact when Clarke pulls Lexa down on top of her. Clarke kisses her like she wants to devour her. A litany of tiny whimpers and whines clog the back of Lexa’s throat while Clarke explores her mouth and her body. Warm hands rove up and down Lexa’s back, her sides, lingering over the curve of her ass.

Several minutes later Clarke’s lips detach from Lexa’s own. They remain close, foreheads bumping gently together, noses pressed to the crease of cheeks. 

“So what present would you like to redeem from Ms Claus? Fingers? Mouth? Toys?” With every word Clarke’s top lip grazes against Lexa’s. “I’ll let you into a secret: there’s a not-so-little something special sitting under the tree. I _was_ gonna make you wait until Christmas morning to open that one but,” Clarke pauses for sly effect, lowers her voice to a husky stage whisper, “I won’t tell Santa if you won’t.”

The soft groan Lexa lets out has Clarke smirking. Now that vivid mental image has entered her head Lexa’s not going to be able to think about anything else all night. Which could be really awkward when they’re at dinner and someone asks her if she’d like extra stuffing.

She gives a small shake of her head, trying to dispel these thoughts. “All I want for Christmas is you.”

A couple of seconds elapse before Clarke rears back with a snorted laugh. “You did _not_ just quote a Mariah Carey song at me.”

“Arguably, the best Mariah Carey song. But, also, the best in the modern Christmas pantheon.”

Clarke actually gasps at this. Recoils as if burned. “Take it back. Elton John’s Step Into Christmas is the greatest and you know it.”

“Wrong, Clarke.”

The expression of abject disgust on Clarke’s face has Lexa pressing her lips tightly together to suppress a smile.

“Okay, I’ve changed my mind. I’m moving your name over to the ‘Naughty’ column. Looks like our neighbours will be enjoying a silent night after all.”

Lexa can’t prevent the laugh that bubbles up within her chest. She reaches up to adjust the Santa hat currently sitting askew on Clarke’s head. The downturn of Clarke’s mouth only makes her look cuter. Lexa dips her chin to press a tender kiss to that faux frown. It’s only a matter of seconds before Clarke abandons the pretence of petulance and responds with just as much sweetness.

As they part Lexa nudges the side of Clarke’s nose with her own. “I’m so happy I get to spend every holiday with you,” she whispers against Clarke’s lips, feeling the answering stretch of her smile.

When Lexa’s eyelids flutter open it’s to find blue eyes shining back at her, brimming with a borderline-sickening level of adoration that must surely be reflected in her own gaze. 

“Me too,” Clarke says, lifting a hand to stroke over Lexa’s cheekbone. 

For a long, weighted moment Lexa gets caught up in looking at Clarke, affection and love and wonder palpable in the air between them. So much so that the hard shove against Lexa’s shoulder, forcing her onto her back, comes as a total surprise.

Clarke rises up, swings one leg over Lexa’s hips to straddle her. She places her palms flat on Lexa’s abs (which, thanks to her new workout regimen, are slowly developing into a two pack). 

“Clarke—”  


“Didn’t I tell you? Now that you’ve been struck off the ‘Nice’ list, I get to do what _I_ want instead.”

Lexa stares up at Clarke, gulps around the knot that’s formed in her throat. It takes a supreme effort not to get distracted by Clarke’s breasts. Because, God, they truly are a Christmas blessing.

Clarke rolls her hips meaningfully and it pulls a choked noise from Lexa, one she can’t quite stifle. 

“Let’s make the Yuletide gay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Join me in hell, I mean, tumblr: [femininenachos](https://femininenachos.tumblr.com/).


End file.
